


Deaf

by noveltea



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltea/pseuds/noveltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during X-Men 2. Scott Summers didn't know where he'd been taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deaf

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters, items and locations belong to their respective creators.

Scott Summers didn't know where he'd been taken.

He knew there was water nearby – a lake, or possibly a larger body of water. He knew he was below ground level as well, although just barely below. The air in his… his cell, was damp, the rocky walls clammy to the touch. He'd taken his gloves off at one stage, exploring the cell with his hands.

Even if he couldn't see where he was being held, Scott knew the layout of it. He'd mapped it out in his mind – a series of locations, landmarks in the walls and on the floor. There was a video camera in the northwest corner of the earthen room, but unless his captors knew anything about just how good he was when he couldn't see, his actions would have looked nothing more than the same explorations any prisoner might have undertaken.

Although he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for – the woman he'd met and fought with in the prison had been good, far better than he'd been, though she'd had the element of surprise – he knew he'd been awake for six hours. He never really understood why he had such an accurate judgement of time or location; it had been something he'd had from an early age, and never questioned. More recently he'd cultivated it as an invaluable skill in times of need.

Like now.

After being thrown unceremoniously into the small cell, while still unconscious, Scott hadn't had any other contact with his captors. From what he'd witnessed in the prison, he wasn't the target – it had been the Professor. He was merely an extra that whoever it was behind all this had gained by luck.

He'd tried hard to try and pick up anything that was going on outside his cell, but the thick bandage that had been wrapped tightly around his eyes and head covered most of his ears. It left him blind and partially deaf at the same time, making listening closely a task near to impossible. He could tolerate the blindness, and function almost at his peak in that condition if he had to; but being unable to hear frustrated him. Without his eyes – either covered by his glasses or his visor – he had learnt to rely on his hearing, and now that was gone.

He didn't even have his visor – only God would know where they'd taken it. As soon as he'd discovered it missing, he'd considered removing the bandages and blasting his way out of the cell. But he had no way of knowing where he was, or what the damage a blast from his eyes would to the surrounding areas. For all he knew there were innocent people - although parts of him screamed 'to hell with them' in the immediate area, unaware of what was going on.

And without knowing more about his situation, breaking out – while it could be easy – escaping would be more tricky, especially since he had to find the Professor and get him out in one piece as well.

All he had was his mind's map of the room. And so he waited.

It was another two hours before he heard the sound of rock scraping on gravel – the sound of the heavy door into his cell opening, and the sound of footsteps entering. The owner of the feet wore military standard issue boots.

A part of Scott's hope faded when he realised the fact.

He stood up, facing in the direction of the visitor – unsure of whether the man in the room would be surprised to see his blind prisoner turn to face him, or merely accept the fact. Scott knew he could try to take him out, try to escape. He also knew that it would be another foolish attempt, one that wouldn't lead to escape.

"Mr. Summers, I hope you're enjoying our accommodations," came a Southern drawl that dripped with insincerity.

He chose not to reply. There was no need to provoke any kind of conversation, or spiels from a man who wouldn't allow him to see his face. With his hearing still impaired to quieter noises, Scott didn't realise that this man had men waiting outside his cell, and must have responded to some non-verbal command; they entered the room, weapons raised and ready to fire at any sign of trouble. He flinched when two men grabbed his arms, kicking his feet out from beneath him.

But he didn't make a sound.

The muffled sounds he did manage to hear after that made no sense. His head was pushed forward, roughly, and he felt his neck strain as someone held it down. Then all he felt was a searing pain.

Still, no sound.

He wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction. Whatever this man wanted, he was going to have to better than burning a hole in the back of neck.

Opposite him, Scott heard the man chuckle. It was an unpleasant sound.

It was also the last thing he remembered hearing, while still conscious.


End file.
